


MandomeraWeek2021 prompt fills

by stopcryingyoullrust



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-19 11:49:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29998920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopcryingyoullrust/pseuds/stopcryingyoullrust
Summary: These are just two short fics and a drabble I wrote to fill some of the prompts from the Mandomera Week event on tumblr.Chapter 1: First timeChapter 2: Dominance&RestrainingChapter 3: Kink DayDetailed content warnings before every chapter.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Omera
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11
Collections: Mandomera Week 2021





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to [fanfoolishness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness) for betareading these!
> 
> Chapter 1: First time  
> Content: oral sex

Omera’s smile is as gentle as always. “You don’t have to rush into it.”

“I’m not,” he says. “I want— I want it. But… some instructions may be needed.”

The way she tilts her head says more than anything else. “I don’t have a problem with speaking my mind, don’t worry.”

Din smiles at that and moves on the bed to settle between her legs.

Armed with a hazy memory of a holomovie he’s seen years ago and a few comments overshared by some of his fellow bounty hunters, he has a general idea of how eating someone out works. 

“You have to tell me if I do something wrong,” Din says firmly.

Omera snorts, hand covering her face. Din almost falters, but then she sits up and presses a quick kiss to his lips. “I don’t think you can go very wrong here,” she says. 

Her face is so close to his he can count every one of her long eyelashes. Din forgets what he wanted to say next. 

“Well,” she continues, “don’t bite me down there. Other than that, just do what I tell you and it’ll be fine.”

Right, teeth. He didn’t even think of that.

She drops down on her back and licks her lips, waiting for him to make the first move.

Din is a practical man, so he tackles it like any other challenge.

Omera has explained that good loving takes time, that sex is something to to be learned, practiced; it’s a skill you need to hone. But he doesn’t just want to try something new today, doesn’t want her to amuse him with a lesson.

Din is practical and _determined_. Once he decides on something, it’s going to happen.

And he’s just decided that he’s going to make her lose it.

His hands settle on her kneecaps, spreading her legs apart. Omera watches him, no bashfulness in sight, just curiosity. One of her hands settles between her breasts, long fingers caressing the skin there.

The quick learner that he is, Din thinks back to what she was doing to him just an hour ago and why it made him forget how to speak Basic. She didn't go straight for the kill. Instead, her hands and lips teased a thousand pleas before he even got fully undressed. 

So, he turns into a discoverer, touring her body with his mouth and hands. 

First, he settles his palms on her knees, lets her think he’s going to bring them lower, before bending down and replacing one of them with his mouth. His lips slide over the smooth skin on the inside of her right thigh. His knuckles find bends on her kneecaps. Lips and nose get ticked by the rough hair on her calves, knowing the sensation is mirrored by his stubble on her skin. Her skin smells uniquely of her. He knows it all too well: the scent haunted him when he was staying at her barn that first time, chased after him in the form of a blue blanket she gifted him when they parted. To breathe it in now, to even be allowed it, makes his head spin.

Omera stirs, gasping when he returns his attention to her thighs. He takes pride in every breath that comes out quicker, more shallow, cut off. He lifts his head and Omera’s eyes meet his. He moans softly under the weight of the stare. Her long fingers run over her breasts now, pressing into the soft flesh, rubbing circles into her nipples. It gives him...ideas.

Din moves up her body until he reaches her lips. Her legs wrap around his waist without warning, making him gasp into her mouth and break away with a wet smack. He’s getting hard again, against all odds, and all it takes is being close to her.

Omera chases his lips with her own, but he knows he can’t afford the distraction. He parts from her, lips never fully leaving her skin as he moves over the edge of her jaw, to her neck, biting into the skin there, teeth grazing it until he sinks them in again.

Her mouth is so close to his ear, the soft moan she makes is as much a sound as it is a gust of hot air. It proves to him he’s on the right path. His right hand cups her breast, runs a finger over the nipple, in preparation. And when he puts his mouth on it, his first victory arrives.

Omera swears. Low, under her breath, but he knows he heard it. He smiles against her in satisfaction. His lips seal over the sensitive tissue, catching it between them, and he tugs, until it comes out of his mouth with a wet smack. That elicits a curse that’s way more audible.

One of Omera’s hands gets tangled in his hair, the other flies between their bodies, fingers burying themselves in the folds. Not wanting to stop what he’s doing, Din only registers what she’s doing in the corner of his eye, but it still makes his whole face feel hot. 

His moves get more frantic, sucking at her breasts, biting the soft flesh of her stomach, licking over the smooth scar between her ribs. His hair is pulled, forcing him to lean up and look at her. His gaze is met with wide eyes, pupils blown.

“Lesson number one,” Omera says, her voice rough. “Eating someone out involves putting your mouth on their pussy.”

He determines instantly that he loves her like this. No longer the soft spoken mother she presents herself as to the village, but instead deprived, desperate, demanding. Still, no _please_ has been in use, but he forgoes expecting it, deciding instead to just give her what she wants.

He moves back down her body, grabs the hand she’s been using by her wrist. Omera whines in frustration at the interruption, but it dies in her throat when he brings it to his mouth. Without thinking, Din sinks his mouth down her index finger. He moans around it, revering in getting the preliminary taste.

He wants more. 

The start is messy, no technique, no plan. He just laps at her entrance, presses his face as deep as he can to fuck his tongue in and out, his patchy beard scratching the delicate skin. He hears Omera gasping, her hand returns to grip his hair and she’s saying something, he realizes over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. She guides him higher, _here, more, harder_ , she tells him and he complies instantly.

Din pulls her folds back and seals his lips over her clit, sucking it in. 

And he’s hard, a painful distraction he can’t allow. He can feel the precum leaking from his tip and fuck— if he just touches himself now, he’s going to come.

He breaks away only to nibble around the clit, slide his mouth down to her opening and back up again before he returns to enclose the bud. His tongue works it relentlessly, until Omera pants, until his jaw burns. He’d like to stop to give himself a moment to massage away the soreness, but he won’t allow that. Mandalorians don’t quit easily.

So he doesn’t.

When she comes, it’s with his name on her lips. The sound dissipates into a low groan that alone is enough to make his cock twitch. He wipes his face with his forearm and settles next to her; both panting and dazed.

When he sees her gaze focus, he catches his breath long enough to force out, “Room for improvement?”

Omera laughs, wrapping an arm around him and her answer gets lost in their kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2: Dominance&Restraining  
> Content: bondage, discipline, rimming, blowjob, dom!Omera and sub!Din (obviously)

“This could have been avoided if you behaved yourself.” 

The words lack a biting tone, they’re just laced with disappointment. 

Din’s breath gets caught in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he says. He actually means it, he is surprised to realize. The upset at letting Omera down is already eating at him from the inside.

He didn’t think he’d be into this particular game, when she first proposed it, but with every passing minute, every commanding word and touch directing him just where she wants, he got deeper into it. 

So now, he’s sitting here in the middle of their bed, looking up at her fetching the rope. A man in his forties, naked and flushed red with shame for daring to touch his own dick when she specifically forbade it. It’s a far cry from the beskar clad warrior the village knows him as. If anyone could see him now, he wouldn’t survive it. He doesn’t even want to see himself. There are no mirrors in their room, a fact he’s eternally grateful for. The embarrassment does something to him, setting his insides on fire. His hands itch to disobey again, but he knows he _can’t, can’t, can’t_. 

Omera stands before him, holding up a soft, red robe they picked long before starting. One of her hands slides down the material, wraps around it and pulls, making a taut line. 

Din licks his lips.

“Get on all fours,” Omera says.

He scrambles on the bed, twisting the cover in his haste to prove that he can obey. 

“Good boy.” 

The praise comes with an addition of her hand on the small of his back. She leaves a hot imprint of her palm on his skin. That and the words are enough to ground him, calm him, make him shudder. This is ridiculous, the still sober part of his mind tells him. This should not be enough to affect him so much. _What are you doing to me,_ he wants to ask her, but there’s no point. She already explained, they discussed all possibilities, fuck— he wanted it done today. But nothing prepared him for how intense it would all feel.

She tells him to move his arms up on the bed and he watches in fascination as the robe is trailed around his wrists. Omera makes a quick work on tying him to the headboard. The knot is one Din’s familiar with; has used it himself, although he would have never thought it could be utilized in such a setting. 

But it’s perfect. Sturdy. Inescapable.

He tests it just to be sure, the rope tenses but his wrists remain trapped and the headboard doesn’t even make a sound. There’s enough of the rope for him to lean back, but not enough to reach himself. He tries.

Din drops back down on the bed. The position puts him on his elbows, arching his lower back and he can feel the heat coming up his face again.

Omera puts her hand on his shoulder, starting a gasp from him.

“Green?” she asks, worrying her bottom lip; the character she put on slips for a second.

Din smiles at that.

He thinks about Winta and Grogu being safe and happy at their friends’ house. He cranes his head to look at his beskar’gam, laid out reverently on the dresser. The darksaber is stuffed far down one of the drawers- he’s not even sure anymore which one. The village sits quiet in the night. 

No one to protect, nothing to defend. No excuses left. All he can do is submit.

“Green,” he confirms.

“Do you remember what you’re supposed to say when you get close?”

“Yes. Orange.”

“Good.”

With that, she moves down the bed and kneels behind him.

Din’s eyes have a split second to widen, before her mouth is on him. He shuts them tightly,preparing for what’s coming next. Omera nibbles at the flesh of his right cheek, worrying it between her teeth while her hands run slowly up and down his thigh. When her mouth moves to his asshole, he lets out a strained grunt. Her tongue works in circles, delicate but unyielding. She makes it go rigid at times to press against the rim, before teasing it with her lips. The sensation is different from anything he knows. It builds a steady pressure inside him.

It’s when she cups his balls, that he realizes he’s not going to last long. Her other hand goes to his cock, forming a loose grip on it. She strokes him, lightly, not enough to push. 

But it’s still too much. He feels pulled in opposite directions, unable to focus on either the wet pressure on his asshole or the throbbing dick, and it almost catches him by surprise, when his orgasm gets close.

“O-Omera, orange… Orange!” he chokes out.

She pulls up from behind him immediately. “Get on your back,” she rasps out, already pushing at his form to turn him over. The rope twists above his head as his back hits the covers. His body is like a ragdoll, it allows itself to be positioned, laid out, bared. He doesn’t even have time to think about it because Omera is on him, pushing his legs apart and _sinking_ her mouth on his cock. He already misses the sensation that disappeared from his asshole, but the wet heat that engulfs him now makes up for it. Her long hair cascades around his waist, as she bobs her head.

From deep within his throat comes out something between a sob and an unhinged laugh, and she pulls up at the sound, letting only his head rest within her mouth. Din’s whole body feels impossibly taut. The rope creaks somewhere above him. He looks down. Their eyes lock.

And that’s enough.

His dick pulses, she moans and seals her lips around the shaft. His mind reverberates with _Omera, Omera, Omera._ Only he realizes that he’s not thinking it, he’s chanting her name like a prayer; the room fills with it, accompanied by the smacking sounds of her sucking him dry.

At some point, the noise stops and his hands are freed. His wrists are massaged gently to ease up the angry welts, and then placed down. Omera lays beside him, chin propped on her hand.

“That was very good,” she says simply. “You did good.”

Din blinks at her slowly, the words coming to him like through a fog. “I did?” he asks.

“Yes. Just perfect. Beautiful,” she confirms, before placing a chaste kiss on his lips. She lays her head on his shoulder, puts his arm around her back and wraps her body around him, the heat radiating off acting as a beacon in his state..

He lays there, staring at the ceiling and feeling his focus slowly return as he starts noticing the way the candle light flickers in the room, a stray cry of a faraway hawk, the way sweat on his skin starts to cool off, making him yearn for a blanket.

And he thinks of the words she has chosen to describe him. How he would never think to call himself beautiful or perfect - once upon a time ‘good’ wouldn’t fit either, he’s sure. 

But when she says something, he has to listen. And so he let himself believe it’s true.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3: Kink Day  
> Content: pegging, overstimulation

She picks up the pace and then stops.

“Omera.” He sounds almost as if he’s in pain.

She waits for the word they agreed on to mean stop, but it doesn’t come. Din’s breathing hard, as if dragging air into his lungs is becoming a chore. She can’t see his face, buried in his crossed forearms, but she knows it’s flushed and glistening with sweat.

Omera lays her hand on the small of his back and asks, innocently, “Yes?”

Din groans and against better judgement, decides to complain. “I can’t come again if you keep throwing off the rhythm.”

How rude. Omera bites her lips on the forming smile and leans in over his back. The shift in position makes Din whine and she has to stop herself from responding to that noise. Her lips brush the nape of his neck as she thread one hand through the sweaty curls.

She makes sure to keep her lips just above his earlobe as she says, “Hush there. I will fuck you the way I want to.”

Din makes a strangled sound, as if her direct words knocked the air out of him. Might as well be true. The man still gets embarrassed by the topic of sex and it still thrills her to find new ways of making him stutter.

Din’s head raises and props himself on his elbows, leaning back into her chest. It’s her time to stifle a moan as their wet skin meets.

“It’s just… too much,” Din says. Still not ‘stop’. 

“That’s kind of the point today, isn’t it?” Omera says and presses a kiss to his shoulder. “Do you want me to pull out?”

“No.” The answer comes without hesitation, making her grin. Mandalorians are stubborn. Flesh still ringing from the last orgasm she wrung from him, Din’s too far gone to handle the idea of not being able to come. She knows how it is, being trapped between too much and not enough. His body must _burn_. 

She rolls her hips, harder this time and he gasps, hands clenching on the sheets. His head drops on the bed again as he drives back on her with a low grunt that she can’t help but mirror.

This time, he’s the one to halt. “I feel... selfish,” Din groans. “You’re… neglected.”

Omera snorts, but he does have a point. She’s been wet for so long, now the moisture spreads unpleasantly on her inner thigh. Each and every noise he makes sends shivers through her. She’s of half mind to just push him on his back and crawl up his body until her thighs frame his face. But that would spoil her plans.

“Later,” she says, more to herself than him. “This is about you.”

With that she leans back, takes hold of his hips and sets a pace.


End file.
